


Absence of light

by IdlyWoolgathering



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Abusive William Reid, Child Spencer Reid, Hurt Spencer Reid, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Schizophrenia, fear of the dark, just me taking Reid's fear of the dark and making it bigger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:46:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26577028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdlyWoolgathering/pseuds/IdlyWoolgathering
Summary: There's nothing scary about a closet, Spencer reasons with himself, and there's nothing scary about the dark, it is simply the absence of light. It's a primal response. That's all.He knows that isn't just it.He knows it in all the statistics about trauma and abuse crowding in his head and he knows it even better in his denial. But how can his parents abuse him? They love him. He knows that, he just has to remind himself sometimes.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 108





	Absence of light

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 2am instead of doing my math hw <3 it is utterly unbeta'd and I glanced it over be kind.

Spencer is reading through Hamlet cheerfully on the living room floor. It's Sunday and he has nowhere to be, his homework is finished, and the day is just dreary enough that his father can't get mad at him for not being outside. His mother has been upstairs having one of her worse days and his father is lurking somewhere in his home office.

It's a good day, overall.

A step in the hall has his head snapping up. His dad is leaning in the doorway, studying him closely.

“What are you reading?” his father asks, a line between his eyebrows. Spencer holds up the book so the cover is readable.

“Hamlet,” he answers nervously. His father frowns deeper.

“Isn't that kind of... girly?” he asks. Spencer frowns right back.

“It's classic literature,” he informs his father flatly, dropping his eyes back down to the page.

His father says nothing, simply sits on the couch above him, and turns on the TV.

Spencer flips through the book slowly. _The average seven-year-old reads at about 50-70 words per minute._ His eyes dart over the same words again and again until enough time has passed and he can move on. He wants to go faster but his dad will know and then he'll be angry. He always knows when Spencer is doing something freakish.

The flipping through the channels is an act. His father is really watching, Spencer knows. The backs of his eyes are burning as he slowly turns the page.

“Hey-” he flinches and his father stops abruptly.

“Sorry,” Spencer offers softly after a moment, “you startled me,” his father frowns but doesn't push.

“Haven't you read that one before?” his father questions, “I thought you didn't like reading the same books again. Isn't that why I'm always buying you so many?” Spencer shrugs uncomfortably.

“It's a good one,” he answers carefully. His father stares for a moment, studying him closely like he studies his clients. Spencer's heart is pounding. Did he do something wrong again? What was it this time? Is his dad going to- William hums noncommittedly and reaches over, ignoring Spencer's flinch, and ruffles his hair, though something pinched stays in his face.

He leaves Spencer to his book, leaves him to make himself lunch, and comfort himself when his mom starts crying upstairs.

It used to scare him more.

Now, he just falls asleep on the couch to the sound of the rain outside.

~

He wakes up to the house draped in darkness and dreariness.

Spencer blinks at the clock, rubbing his eyes and finding his glasses on the floor. It's only eight, he realizes, and more importantly, his mom has stopped crying. He wonders if she'll read to him. He misses her. He hates it when it's just him and dad.

He digs out another book from his stack, thick and heavy, and heads to the stairs.

“-riously, Diana? This can't go on!” his father's voice is tense.

“Don't you say that,” his mother snaps back, “there is nothing _wrong_ with him!”

“Yes, there is! He isn't normal!” William splutters, “you're- you're making him strange,”

The hall is dark and Spencer clutches the book closer as he creeps to his parents' bedroom door.

“Spencer is perfect the way he is,” Diana states, “I won't discuss this with you anymore. Not with _them_ listening- what if they take him away?”

“There is no one listening, and yes you will discuss this right now,” William's voice gets rougher, “don't you turn your fucking back on me!” a sharp slap rings through the air and Spencer hears his mother cry out. He shoves his fear aside and flies into the room.

William is shaking, fists clenched as he stares down at Diana, who's fallen onto the bed. Her expression is confused and distant, cheek bright red with a cut on the cheekbone. Her gaze slides to Spencer, who's clutching his book tight to his chest.

“Dad? Mom?” he whispers hesitantly, “what are you doing?” William heaves in a deep breath. His hand raises to pinch his nose. There's blood on one of his rings.

“Go to your room, bud,” he says calmly, “nothing is happening,” Spencer's eyes dart back to his mom. Her hands are clutched up in her shirt, glancing between them. A bead of blood races down her cheek like a tear.

“Mom-?” he questions, fearful.

“Spencer, honey, listen to your father,” Diana says distantly.

“But Mom, he hurt-”

“Spencer, I _said_ go to your room,” William snaps, turning sharply towards the small boy. Spencer flinches back but doesn't give ground.

“Did you hit her?” he demands, voice weak but determined. William scoffs.

“Your mother and I are working something out,” his father says tersely, “you don't need to inject yourself into this. Go to your room and stay there,” Spencer scowls properly.

“I'm staying here,” he says, raising his chin defiantly, “I won't let you hurt her,” there's something strange in his father's eyes, like he's both enraged and proud of him.

“Is that so?” William asks lowly. Spencer shivers slightly.

“Yes it is,” he states shakily, ignoring the tears in his eyes, “about 38% of murdered women are killed by their partner and I _won't_ let that happen to my mom,” William's face darkens.

“A partner? A _partner_?” he spits, drawing himself up, “Is that all I am to you? Some fucking statistic? I am your _father_ , Spencer, and it would be nice to see you show some respect for that sometimes!”

“Earn it, then!” Spencer shouts right back, horrified with himself. Why is he talking back? He knows he shouldn't talk back! He _knows_ what happens when he does!

“Earn it? Like I need to do _more_ for you? Oh, I'll show you _effort_ ,” his father growls, lunging for him. Spencer tries to dart away but William snatches him up around the waist, book tumbling to the floor. Spencer yelps, trying to pry the man's arms off of him. Diana doesn't move as William hauls him out of the room, her disturbed mutters sending them off down the dark hall.

“Let me down!” Spencer yells, struggling to no avail.

“Why do insist on being so disrespectful?” William snaps, ignoring him, “why can't you just listen to me? You _and_ your damn mother?”

“What are you going to do to her? You didn't even deny that you might hurt her!” Spencer accuses, digging his nails deep into his father's arms, feeling a slightly wicked vindication at his father's wince.

“I thought you had learned your lesson, Spencer,” his father warns, “you know I don't like punishing you. I thought we had moved past this,” he pauses in front of the hallway closet. Spencer's heart stutters, sudden cold fear clawing it's way up his throat.

“No! No I don't want to go!” Spencer cries out, kicking at his father. His father squeezes him tighter, easily containing the struggling child.

“If you didn't want to go you wouldn't misbehave!” William shouts at him, ripping the door open and throwing Spencer in a heap on the floor. Spencer hurtles to his feet and tries to shove past the man, who backhands him across the face, sending him sprawling back in.

The door slams shut and Spencer hears the deadbolt on the outside click into place.

It's just as dark as he remembers.

“No!” Spencer shrieks, throwing himself at the door, pounding on it, “no _please!_ I don't want to be in here! Please let me out! Please no!” William scoffs from the other side of the door and the door vibrates as he slams his fist into it.

“I'll let you out when you're ready to be good,” his father snaps, “when you're ready to respect me and do as I say,” he pounds on the door again and Spencer flinches back, “and be quiet! The neighbors are going to call the police!”

“I hope they do!” Spencer screams right back, kicking the door viciously.

“You've just earned yourself another day young man!” his father warns, before his voice softens, “this is for your good, Spencer. This is for you. Now, be good for your mother,” his voice drops, “I know you can be good. _Calm down,_ ” Spencer's breath hitches, heart cold. He can't protect his mother in here- and objectively, he knows he can't protect her out there either. Still.

Spencer forces himself to swallow down a scream.

“Yes sir,” he sniffles petulantly, rubbing at his eyes until he sees lights behind his eyes.

“Sir?” his father asks, voice low. Spencer shivers.

“Y-yes, dad,” he quickly corrects, heart pounding.

“There you go,” his father praises, voice warmer, and walks away from the door. Spencer's heart jumps back into his throat and he listens intensely, prepared to throw himself at the door and try to break it down.

His father's office door opens and shuts, and silence settles heavily over the house again.

Spencer forces himself to stand down, struggling to breathe past the tears and the cold and dark finally starting to sink into his bones. He's freezing, shaking, and wishing any of the coats could ease away the bitter chill that comes from inside him, fingers tracing over the dents and scratches on the door, over and over and over-

He won't cry. He's not allowed to cry. His dad doesn't like it and his mother doesn't understand why he does. Spencer hates it, he thinks as he rocks back and forth on his heels, trying to soothe himself. He hates it, hates it here, hates it in this horrible little dark closet where he's always so hungry and cold and _bored_ , thoughts screaming so loud and so endlessly-

He lets himself collapse back to the floor, huddled into a ball in the corner, behind the coats. Spencer sometimes thinks that if he died in here and someone came looking they would never find his body. He'd just be back here, forgotten, quiet, alone like always.

His breath hitches and he tries to make himself stop. It won't do him any good to panic. No one ever comes. He knows that. His fingers gently trace the gouges on the floor a younger, less resigned Spencer Reid had clawed into the wall. Still desperate, suffocating, hoping if he cried loud enough Mom would come let him out. The fear is still there, but he knows better now. He wonders if he'll always fear this little room so much.

_There's nothing scary about a closet,_ Spencer reasons with himself, _and_ _there's nothing scary about the dark, it is simply the absence of light. It's a primal response. That's all._

He knows that isn't just it.

He knows it in all the statistics about trauma and abuse crowding in his head and he knows it even better in his denial. But how can his parents abuse him? They _love_ him. He knows that, he just has to remind himself sometimes. His father might hurt his mom, sometimes, the same way she sometimes throws things at his dad. He knows they're unhappy together, but- but they don't hurt _him_. Or, they don't mean to hurt him- they're just trying to make him better.

Isn't that what parents are supposed to do?

They're supposed to be trying to fix him, to be trying to make him normal. To be trying to make him loveable, and how is that a crime? How is it a crime to correct your broken child? Spencer thinks he _needs_ to be fixed, by any means possible. He needs to be better.

And he will be better.

He _will_ be, and one day he won't be pitiful little Spencer Reid who's terrified of his dad and the dark. One day he'll be better, be stronger, and be able to protect people. He'll find a way to make his parents proud of him, and prove he's not just forgettable, that he means something.

He just has to make it out of this closet first.

**Author's Note:**

> I might write a second chapter and make Reid address this but idk


End file.
